


Break Your Heart

by alisvolatpropiis



Series: If I Played You My Favorite Song [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Allison/Lydia, Bearded Stiles, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Derek Needs a Hug, Derek uses music to express his feelings, Inspired by Music, M/M, Musician Derek, POV Stiles, Songfic, Tattooed Derek, Vague references to Kate and the fire, background Boyd/Erica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:21:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisvolatpropiis/pseuds/alisvolatpropiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t going to go.</p><p>He wasn’t.</p><p>But then he saw the flyer, the little half-sheet of paper with Derek’s name in simple block letters against a silhouette of a howling wolf, the one that Allison had given him earlier, the one she said Derek gave her to give to him.</p><p>She left it face down on his coffee table, tucked under the ashtray that Derek bought him from the glassblowing studio they visited on the coast a couple of months ago when they rented a secluded cottage on the beach and Derek had tried to teach him how to surf.</p><p>He’d recognize Derek’s handwriting anywhere, has seen it on countless bar napkins and scraps of paper with fragments of lyrics strewn in his blocky, aggressive hand. He stared at the back of the flyer for a long time.<br/> <br/><em>Stiles - </em></p><p><em>I’m sorry. I just –</em><br/> <br/><em> Come tonight. Please.</em> </p><p>  <em>- D. <em></em></em></p><p>He's out the door in a heartbeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning on taking a break from writing today. I really was. 
> 
> But then The Gaslight Anthem released their new album, which always means LOTS OF FEELS FOR ME...and since all of my feels are Sterek-flavored these days....then I heard [Break Your Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WszGQrPMnd0) and it made me cry and it reminded me so much of Sterek...and since I already had a musician Derek 'verse...this just kinda happened. I recommend listening to the song when you get to it. 
> 
> [would it be obnoxious or helpful to put a link to it directly in the fic?]
> 
> This is a part two to [Pony](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2095680), which is a much more happy-go-lucky fic. 
> 
> This has a happy ending - promise!! 
> 
> I'll be over here crying and listening to this damn song on repeat.
> 
> Thanks for reading, lovelies! xoxo
> 
> **lyrics to "Break Your Heart," belong to The Gaslight Anthem, and not to me or Derek Hale. ** Go pay money for their music. It's amazing.

Stiles rushes through the door, panting slightly from his seven-block run in the rain. He’s soaked and damn-near freezing with the sting of January cold on his newly-buzzed scalp, fumbling to put his ID back in his wallet after getting carded at the door, pulling his white t-shirt from his skin, shaking it in a futile attempt to dry out. 

There’s a circle of tables up by the stage, all full, and a pretty big crowd standing behind those. He pushes his way through, the crowd buzzing with how good Derek is, entranced by his talent and brooding presence. Stiles makes his way towards the stage, worried that’s he’s missed the whole show, heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with his run.

He hears Derek before he sees him, breathing a huge sigh of relief even though the sound of his voice after not hearing it for a month makes the jagged ache in his chest even worse.

“Thanks, folks. You’ve been very kind to me tonight, I appreciate it.” Derek sounds subdued, running his hands through his hair before reaching over to the stool next to him to gulp from the beer he’s probably been nursing throughout his entire set. He’s seated, his favorite beat up old guitar strung across his lap, the one with the triskele branded into the body that matches the tattoo on his back. His beard his fuller and there are dark circles under his eyes, which are practically glowing the same green as his threadbare Henley. He's still lovely, but looks tired, sad.

Stiles steps forward, still not very close to the stage but out of the crowd, standing awkwardly next to one of the tables full of people, biting his lip until Derek’s eyes land on him.

He’s still – so still – for a long beat before swallowing hard and smiling quickly, softly, and Stiles wants to die, because he loves that smile more than anything and he hasn’t seen it in so long and this just isn’t fair, how much it _hurts_ to look at him.

“This is going to be my last song tonight,” Derek says, voice shaking just a bit. “I, uh, started writing this early one morning about seven months ago, without even realizing what it was, if that makes sense.” He looks down, shyly almost. Stiles has seen Derek perform half a dozen times since that first night, and he’s never been so open on stage. “I finished it a couple of weeks ago, and this is my first time playing it,” he goes on. “It took me awhile to figure some things out,” he adds softly, almost to himself.

His eyes, mossy in the soft spotlight, lock on Stiles’. “It’s called ‘Break Your Heart.’ I hope you like it.”

**~*~**

For awhile, things with Derek had been _amazing_. He was gruff but quietly sweet when Stiles least expected it; he was pensive some days and downright goofy others, tickling Stiles into a heap and playing any and every ridiculous song he requested, including most of the _Mamma Mia!_ soundtrack.

They didn’t spend every night together, but close to it. They just kinda fell into each other’s lives not seamlessly, but easily, comfortably. The sex was intense, passionate, _fun_ , hands down the best sex Stiles has ever had and likely ever will have. Derek only had a couple of friends, a married couple, Boyd and Erica, and they got along well with Lydia and Allison, Scott and Kira too, and things were pretty good.

Derek seemed to like to listen to him talk, would listen to him all night sometimes, about anything and everything, moonlight casting blue shadows across his chiseled and illustrated body, fingers strumming across Stiles’ skin, playing him like a guitar.

Some days Derek would get this far off look in his eyes like he was seeing right through him to a past only he could reach, and when Stiles tried to get him to talk about it he would say it was nothing, quiet and distant. They never talked about what they were to each other, never defined their relationship beyond assuring each other that neither was sleeping with anyone else. Stiles got very good at constructing his sentences to avoid saying _my boyfriend_ , just saying _Derek_ instead.

Stiles was happy. Happier than he could ever remember being.

But it started to get to him, how he was always talking but Derek rarely was, at least not about himself. How sometimes he felt like he really didn’t even know the man lying next to him. How Derek was keeping him at arm’s length. How he closed down whenever Stiles asked even the vaguest of questions about his past, his family. It was clear from his demeanor and his music that something bad, likely traumatic, had happened to him, but he refused to talk about it, said he didn’t want to burden Stiles with any of it and that he should stop asking.

The look in his eyes was so harsh, so frustrated, that Stiles agreed, scared that he would lose him if he didn’t.

He lost him anyway.

Derek’s bad days were becoming more and more frequent, and Stiles was starting to worry, both about him and their relationship. He knew that he could maybe make things better for Derek if he could just get him to really trust him, to tell him about whatever it was that haunted him. He wanted to tell Derek that he would help him heal, no matter what it was, would take care of him, that he was irrevocably and undeniably in love with him.

When he got to his place one afternoon almost six months after Derek had first seduced him with his rendition of ‘Pony,’ he stood outside his door for a minute, listening to the plaintive notes of the song Derek had been toying with for months that Stiles had only ever heard bits and pieces of. He was hoping to maybe hear some lyrics this time, but the music was cut off with a sharp strum and a soft thump, followed by a heavy sigh. 

Looking back, that should have been his first sign that things weren’t going to go his way.

 **~*~**

“I’m in love with you,” he had said.

“You should go,” Derek answered.

**~*~**

“Why do you even care,” he asked, petulant and bratty, throwing the flyer back at Allison. It had been an abysmal month since Derek fucking Hale, tortured indie music asshole, ripped his heart out with his talented hands and crushed it with the weight of his achingly gorgeous eyes, blank and vacant when he told Stiles to leave.

Sometimes, the hurt is so bad Stiles is certain he’s still there in Derek’s apartment, the world spinning on without him, hollowed out and echoing empty at having been absolutely gutted by Derek’s rejection. For a second, after he said it, Stiles felt like he had been falling, or maybe it was the floor that was disappearing from beneath him; something was shifting and he was losing his bearings, faltering. Derek stepped forward like he saw it happening, was going to catch him, let him lean on him maybe, but then he stopped himself, fists tightening at his sides.

Stiles righted himself the best he could. “Go,” Derek growled low, the finality in his voice devastating. It felt as if his heart had stopped, had been ripped out and tossed to the floor at his stumbling feet.

Lydia tore him from his misery spiral with a rough shake. “Because you’re an asshole when you’re moping,” she said with the utmost love.

“I’m pretty fucking sure going to Derek’s show isn’t really going to help with that.” He was trying, and failing spectacularly, to sound glib, joking, like the knowledge that Derek doesn’t love him wasn't killing him slowly, making every breath feel like an icy stab straight to his dead heart.

“Stiles,” Allison said gently, sitting down next to him on the couch, petting his greasy hair, kindly not wrinkling her nose at his pungent, weed-scented B.O. “He reached out to me, asked us to try and get you to go. He wants you there. This is a good thing.”

He wanted to be excited, wanted to be thrilled that Derek wanted him at his show, but he just couldn’t stop seeing his face when he Stiles told him he loved him.

Derek had looked like his greatest fear was coming true.

“I can’t see him,” Stiles said, quietly, pitifully.

~*~

Lydia had convinced him to take a shower while she ordered them dinner, and after they ate, when she saw just how long and unruly his hair had gotten, she didn’t even balk when he asked her to buzz it like she used to in high school.

He ran his hands over his bristled scalp, feeling lighter, nothing like better, but cleaner at least.

“What about this,” Allison asked, tugging on his rough stubble that finally seemed full enough to call a beard. She smiled gently over his shoulder at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, resting her chin on his shoulder. 

He ran his hands through it, trying not to remember the feel of Derek’s beard against the back of his neck while they slept, or the tickle of it against his thigh, Derek’s head resting in his lap in bed, strumming his guitar and singing softly in the dark. 

“I think I’ll keep this for a bit longer,” he said finally.  

**~*~**

He wasn’t going to go.

He wasn’t.

But then he saw the flyer, the little half-sheet of paper with Derek’s name in simple block letters against a silhouette of a howling wolf, the one that Allison had given him earlier, the one she said Derek gave her to give to him.

She left it face down on his coffee table, tucked under the ashtray that Derek bought him from the glassblowing studio they visited on the coast a couple of months ago when they rented a secluded cottage on the beach and Derek had tried to teach him how to surf.

He’d recognize Derek’s handwriting anywhere, has seen it on countless bar napkins and scraps of paper with fragments of lyrics strewn in his blocky, aggressive hand. He stares at the back of the flyer for a long time. 

_Stiles -_

_I’m sorry. I just –_

_Just please come tonight. Please._

_\- D._

He's out the door in a heartbeat.

**~*~**

Stiles recognizes the chords instantly. It’s the simple, haunting tune Derek’s been playing around with as long as – well, as long as Stiles has known him, he realizes now, thinking back to that first morning and the gentle notes that lured him from his sleep in Derek’s bed. 

His knees feel a little bit weak at the realization, but that’s nothing compared to what Derek’s voice does to him. It’s his usual sexy blend of rough and gentle, but more plaintive than usual, more honest and raw.

And the lyrics. Stiles is starting to feel like the world is spinning away from him again, faster with each aching word.

_It would break your heart_

_If you knew me well_

_See I have run so far_

_That I’ve lost myself_

Derek’s eyes are still set on his, wide and imploring, singing just to him like he did that first night when he used his music to seduce him. Stiles lets out a small bubble of bittersweet laughter. That was Derek flirting with him the only way he know how, and this, Stiles knows, dripping wet in the middle of the bar, people starting to stare, is Derek again telling him everything he needs to know, in the only way he knows how.

_There are things I have seen_

_That I never will tell_

_That drove me out of my mind_

_And inside myself_

Derek looks down to his hands and takes a deep breath before looking back up, gaze even more intense and heated.

_And oh my my_

_It would break your heart_

_If you knew how I loved you_

Stiles gasps like all of the air has been sucked out of the room, eyes starting to burn hot.

_If I showed you my scars  
_

Derek’s voice breaks just the tiniest bit over the word _scars_ , and Stiles wants to run to him, hug him, kiss the sadness from his lips.

_If I played you my favorite song_

_Lying here in the dark_

_Oh my my_

_It would break your heart_

Stiles is starting to drift closer to the stage, and people are definitely staring now, enthralled. Stiles doesn't care, can't care about anything but the rich, melodic sound of Derek telling him that he loves him.

_It would bring you to tears_

_If you knew what I know_

_See I spent all my money_

_On second-hand love_

_But I trusted somebody_

_Way and back when_

_And I loved her like fire_

_Until it drove me insane_

Stiles is actually crying now, silent tears burning trails down his cold cheeks. Derek closes his eyes as he sings the chorus again, like he can’t look at Stiles falling apart. He feels a warm hand in his and he startles, turning to his side. Lydia’s there, smile soft and knowing, pulling him over to a table.

_Oh my my_

_It would break your heart_

_If you knew how I loved you_

Allison is there, Erica and Boyd too, and Stiles is so glad because he feels like he needs to be held together by each and every one of them.

_If I showed you my scars_

He’s closer to Derek now, can see that his eyes are shining too. Derek pauses for a moment, strums so softly he can barely hear the guitar, can just hear his husky, tender voice. 

_And you can lean on me until your heart don’t beat_

_Leave you lyin’ there on the floor_

_You can lean on me until your heart don’t beat_

_Leave you spinnin’ there on the floor_

The room is silent, in awe of his raw emotion, riveted by his magical presence. He repeats the chorus twice, never taking his eyes away from Stiles, every note and every word nestling into his heart, stitching it up beat by beat.

_If I played you my favorite song_

_Lying here in the dark_

_Oh my my_

_It would break your heart_

_Until it breaks your heart_

Derek’s off the stage before he’s done strumming the last note, letting the guitar fall to floor so he can wrap Stiles in a hug. The crowd is cheering and clapping and he thinks Derek’s mumbling something into his neck, something like “I’m sorry,” maybe, but Stiles doesn’t care because then he’s kissing him, desperately, urgently. The crowd cheers even louder and Stiles smiles into Derek’s mouth, laughter bubbling up through his chest, feeling relieved and happy and flayed open all at once, world spinning the right way again.

**~*~**

That night, naked and twisted in the sheets of Stiles’ bed, Derek rubs his hands across his newly buzzed hair before teasing them down into his beard, smiling. “I like your new look,” he says, nuzzling his own, considerably more impressive beard into Stiles’ neck.

“Who knew I could rock the grief beard, huh,” Stiles quips, yelping when Derek smacks him playfully on the ass.

“I’m sorry,” he says again into his neck, breath hot and wet. 

“I know, big guy,” Stiles murmurs into his hair. “Love you,” he adds. He knows Derek can’t say it back yet, and that’s okay, doesn’t need him to say it, just needs him to know it. 

Derek moves down his chest, each press of his kiss-reddened lips hot like a brand. “What’s your favorite song,” Stiles asks softly. “In your song tonight, you said your favorite song would break my heart. What is it?”

Derek keeps kissing him, eyelashes flitting across his sensitive skin, deft fingers strumming over his spine, smiling when Stiles arches his back and sighs happily in response.

“You,” he says simply, playing on.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on [tumblr](http://deleted-scenes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, can we please talk about bearded!Stiles? Because I think I need a lot more of it.


End file.
